


All the Time in the World

by fangirlSevera



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fix-It, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 14:37:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlSevera/pseuds/fangirlSevera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/416016">The Risk of Waiting</a>.</p><p>Clint is having trouble accepting that he's lost Phil so soon after they finally connected. But this is SHIELD, and not everything is as it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Time in the World

**Author's Note:**

> Written because I feel really really bad about how the previous story ended. This is an apology for any heartache it may have caused.

Natasha told him. She only told him after everything. His belly was full of shawarma, he had gotten patched-up in medical, showered, just about feeling human again.

Then Natasha found him in the locker room. Voice soft, she told him.

Clint shook his head and said, "No."

"I couldn't before... Not when you were still recovering."

Clint tore himself away from the hand on his shoulder and slammed a fist into a locker door. He squeezed his eyes shut against the fresh pain, against the stinging in his eyes. He collapsed onto a bench. It wasn't possible. It just couldn't be, not after...

"It's like he fucking knew." Which was ridiculous of course. He hadn't known, no one did. And that had been the point.

Natasha sat down next to him. "I'm sorry. I know what he meant to you."

"No, you have no idea." 

God, it was only what: five days ago? Less?

He woke-up, body feeling heavy and loose in a way it hadn't in a long time. It was the best sleep he had in a long time, too. If only someone wasn't repeating his name.

"Clint? Clint... Barton!"

Clint sat straight-up, eyes snapping open. "Yes, boss," he responded automatically, almost Pavlovian. 

A low chuckle made his thoughts reorganize themselves and focus. He blinked up at Coulson- _Phil_ \- who was standing by the bunk, smiling fondly down at Clint. 

Phil's hair was damp, and he was half-dressed, wearing a clean pair of pants, but no shirt. Clint looked down at himself. Save for the gray, standard-issue blanket rucked up around his waist, he was completely naked. "So... It wasn't just another wet dream, then?"

Phil's smile widened a little. "No."

"Oh. Good." Clint groaned and fell back down on the small bunk. "What are you doing?" He asked as Phil turned and started shifting through his shirts.

"Getting ready for work."

"Work? I figured maybe we'd call in sick today." He stretched his arms over his head, arched his back, not-so-accidentally letting the blanket slide off his hip. Phil's eyes did flicker down the length of Clint's body, stopping briefly at the newly exposed skin.

That moment's hesitation before Phil found his resolve and said, "No," Clint counted as a victory.

Phil went back to his shirts. Clint rose from the bunk, grabbing and sliding his underwear on before crossing the small distance to run his hands up Phil's still bare back. With his thumb he caressed the Army Ranger tattoo on his right shoulder blade. "Come on, what happened the 'carpe diem' attitude from last night?" He shifted himself around so he was facing Phil and getting his roving hands on his chest.

"I still have responsibilities. As do you. You're due at your post in an hour."

Clint made a pathetic whining noise. "Still so professional. But then, if you weren't professional, you wouldn't be you, and I wouldn't love you." It was amazing: for all the years he had been afraid to say it, how easily it came out now.

"If you weren't exasperating..." Phil pulled Clint forward. They were pressed chest to chest, skin to skin and kissing, slow and languid. It would be the perfect morning kiss, Clint thought, if they had been in bed, too. And with less clothes.

Phil's hands moved. His left stroked up and down Clint's arm while the other slid down his back to settle on his ass. Clint smiled against Phil's lips. He quickly learned the previous night that those were Phil's top two favorite parts of Clint Barton. Well, three, counting both arms.

Just as Clint tried pulling him back to the bunk, Phil pulled away. "I need to go," he said, breathless. "And you need to shower."

"So romantic." He did need a shower, though. His skin was tight with dried sweat, and he reeked of sex. Both of which probably rubbed off a little on Phil as they were making out. Small victory number two.

Phil finally chose a shirt and shrugged it on. Clint pouted as more skin was covered with every button fastened. 

"Clint, Shower. Clothes. Breakfast. Duty." Phil finished the knot on his necktie and reached for his jacket.

"Isn't occasionally getting away with being late one of the perks of sleeping with the boss?"

"No, but longer lunch breaks are."

Clint's grin spread slowly as his caffeine-deprived brain took a couple moments to catch the innuendo. He dropped the smile and stood at attention. "Shower. Clothes. Breakfast. Duty. Sir, yes, sir!"

Lunch never happened. The tesseract went apeshit. Coulson was on the phone with Fury. Then, there was the cold...

Clint shivered.

Natasha's brows twitched down. Then, her eyes widened fractionally. "Oh, Clint..."

"Barton! Romanoff!" Hill barked from the doorway. "Fury wants you for debrief."

Natasha stood, putting herself between Hill and Clint. "He just found out about Coulson."

Hill's jaw clenched. "We lost many good agents today."

More than one by Clint's own hand. Suddenly, that shawarma wasn't sitting so well. 

There was more than one thing that felt wrong about being debriefed directly by Fury. But then, the Avengers Initiative was his baby, and wanted details of the Chitauri battle straight from the source. Well, at least from the two closest sources what with more than half the team refusing to report in.

Once they finished their account (after Loki requested a drink, before the shawarma), Fury dismissed Natasha. He turned his baleful eye to Clint. Natasha gave him a sympathetic look before making her exit.

"Agent Barton."

"Sir, if I-"

"Don't interrupt me! Barton, from here you're going to psych. You're getting that head of yours examined. You will continue to do so until I am satisfied you are truly recovered. Also, until that time you are not to leave the helicarrier."

Threat assessment and containment. Clint knew it, understood even. Didn't have to like it.

"Understood, Barton?"

"Yes, sir. May I ask what happens to me if you remain unsatisfied even with the psych evals?"

"You may not. Dismissed, Barton. Dr. Patterson is expecting you."

Clint had to see Patterson every day. Every day the same sort of questions:

"How do you feel?"

"How did you feel?"

"Do you still have urges that seem to come from outside yourself?"

"How are you sleeping?"

"What does 'trust' mean to you?"

Trust was being invited along on a world-saving mission by Captain fucking America when not even a hour prior he had been working for the bad guy.

Trust was knowing Natasha would be there to bring him back to himself.

Trust was Phil: Phil's orders being the right ones, Phil being there at the other end of the comm, Phil being there for the debrief with a small smile of approval or a frown of disappointment. 

How did he feel? He felt unmade, and when he was put back together a piece was missing, the last screw needed to keep the whole thing from falling apart.

All this, he never said to Dr. Patterson. 

Stuck in the helicarrier, Clint tried to occupy his days between shrink sessions. He spent hours in the range, in the gym, sparring with Natasha, and doing his damned paperwork because Clint felt he owed him that much at least.

After five days of it all, he was ready to crack.

Sweaty and sore from taking out his frustration, anger and grief on a punching bag, Clint sat in his quarters, hands in his hair desperately trying not to _think_.

That's how Natasha found him.

"I caught Hill cleaning out his locker. I nabbed this." She held out a slim, black binder.

Clint's smile was tight and brief as he accepted. "A little surreal now, isn't it?" He opened the cover and looked at the little pictures of the man he recently fought with side-by-side. He lifted a page and frowned. "There's some missing."

"Yeah, Fury had about nine of them, said they'd been in his jacket when-"

Clint's head snapped up. "What? No, no. Phil, he, he ragged on me for even attempting to remove one."

Tasha shrugged. "He wanted Steve to sign some."

"But why just these nine?"

"I don't-"

"No, there's something fishy going on here."

"Clint, don't do this."

"Do what?"

"Start clinging to something, giving yourself false hope."

"I've been to the shrink already today, Nat. I don't need you throwing words like that at me. Look, I know him better than you. I know what these mean to him, and you just don't go carrying these around in your breast pocket in the middle of a crisis!"

Natasha shook her head. Pity. There was fucking pity in her eyes. "Prove me wrong, then," he gritted out. "Let's do our spy stuff and prove me wrong."

She didn't. She couldn't.

"See? Not desperate and crazy." His grin was cocky, but his stomach was fluttering. The relief and joy outweighed the anger and betrayal. But that was okay. Natasha was angry enough for the both of them and possibly three more people.

She glared darkly at the monitor. They snuck into Phil's office, using his computer to dig into the med bay's files and security footage. " _Ebanatyi pidaraz_!" Natasha spat. She turned to Clint. "Let's go get your man."

* * *

Phil's eyes slowly opened. When he finally managed to focus on the man standing at the foot of the bed, he gasped and winced from the pain the sharp intake of breath caused. "Clint?" He asked, voice rough. "I thought I lost you."

"Speak for yourself!" Clint came closer and took Phil's hand. The beep of the heart monitor quickened slightly. "Are we... Does this... change anything?" Clint asked, looking at their joined hands instead of Phil's face.

"Of course not."

Something caught in Clint's chest. He cleared his throat. "No regrets?"

"None."

The tension in Clint's shoulders eased. "Good. Scoot over, then."

"What?" Phil asked as Clint bent over to take off his shoes.

Clint clambered into the bed, mindful of the needles, tubes, and Phil's wound. Clint settled himself and slid an arm around Phil's waist, his head resting on the uninjured side's shoulder. 

"There's cameras," Phil gently reminded him, turning his face, speaking into Clint's hair.

"Don't care. I think Fury's looking for an excuse to get rid of me anyway."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"He's got me into these psych evals and other head-pokings. He must still think I'll turn into a zombie again at any given moment."

"The director likes to be thorough."

Clint snorted. "Yeah, like what he did to your cards to sell the 'You're Dead' story."

The arm around his shoulders tightened. "What?"

Clint propped himself up. "He didn't..." He rolled his eyes. "Of course not. If he wasn't going to tell us you were really alive, he wasn't going to tell you about covering some of your cards in blood. Secretive bastard."

"He..." Phil's brow furrowed in a deep frown. The heart monitor picked-up speed again.

"Whoa! Hey, uhm, but look, you're alive. I'm alive, and no longer an evil minion. The other Avengers are all alive. Earth's saved. Yay?"

Phil took a deep, painful breath, but the rest of him relaxed and he closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. There are very few things in this world that can make me lose perspective."

"It was pretty cool, actually, how they rallied around because of you. It's like I'm dating the popular kid. Although, I am a little worried about you meaning that much to so many people. I'll fight for you, especially if Steve comes sniffing around. It was bad enough when I was jealous of his photo."

"You were jealous...of the cards?"

"I can be petty."

They laid together in silence for a moment, Clint resting his head again on Phil's good shoulder. "I am one of those things that make you lose perspective, right?"

"Yes. Now shut-up. You've over-excited me and I'm tired again."

"This sucks. We should be having celebratory sex now."

"Could've sucked more."

"Yeah, I know, perspective." 

"Why hasn't anyone came to kick you out yet?"

"Tashsa's standing guard."

"Of course she is."

"Hey shut up, now. I'm trying to sleep here." He closed his eyes and listened to the blessed beating of Phil's heart and let the rhythm lull him to sleep.

He was roused by a slender hand shaking his shoulder. "Come on, Clint. He _does_ need doctors at some point."

Clint squinted up at Natasha with a pout. He tilted his head to look up at Phil who was blinking awake himself. 

"Good to see you, Agent Romanoff."

Natasha smiled. An honest to God smile that Clint had never seen before. "Good morning, sir."

"Is it morning?" Phil asked.

"Did you just wake-up? Then it's morning."

"It's two in the afternoon." Hill came into the room, face as stern as ever. Next to her was a doctor. "And it is time for Agent Coulson's wounds to be attended to. It's not the kind that can be kissed better." Her eyes narrowed at Clint who was still curled up at Phil's side.

"It's okay, Clint," Phil said, giving him a slight nudge. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."

"Actually," said Hill, "you've been deemed stable enough to move. You're being taken to a hospital in New York tomorrow."

"That's why you were clearing out his locker. You were just sending his stuff along with him," Natasha realized.

The doctor came up to the bedside and cleared her throat pointedly and not-so politely at Clint. He sighed and rolled off. "Oh yeah, about your stuff. I have your cards. Well, you know, the rest of them. I suppose you'll be wanting those back."

"You hang on to those for me."

"What, you're most prized possessions?"

"I wouldn't trust anyone else."

Natasha tugged on Clint's arm. "Come on, let the good doctor do her job. And I need to get out of here before you two make my teeth rot."

But then Clint suddenly remembered something he pulled away from Natasha, back to the bed and gave Phil a quick kiss. "I don't know when I'll see you again. I'm stuck here until the director says otherwise."

"I'll talk to Fury." 

This time, Clint let Natasha pull him away. As they passed Hill out the door, he gave her a wink.

The next day, Fury came to Clint and informed him that he was being put back on active duty after a week's paid leave. "And don't think I'm doing this for you. When a man who never has called in a favor, despite having earned them in abundance, finally does? I give him anything he wants." Fury then handed Clint a scrap of paper with a hospital address and room number. "You have no idea how lucky you are."

"I think I do, sir."

"Good, then don't fuck it up."

The helicarrier was currently docked for repairs. Clint took the earliest boat to shore and had to resist his instinct to just go straight to the hospital. He had a few things to do first. He went to the apartment he never really called home and shoved some clothes and a few other things into a backpack. 

From there, he walked to the hospital. Around him was rubble and clean-up crews, candles and walls of paper memorials. But once again New York proved to be a city that perseveres. He grinned and shook his head at the vendors waving shirts and posters bearing the likenesses and symbols of "Earth's Mightiest Heroes." He was pretty sure that Stark had Iron Man and all related images trademarked, and most the merchandise around him was technically illegal. 

One woman sat outside the hospital surrounded by teddy bears wearing hand-knitted sweaters. As tempting as the one in a burgundy shirt with an arrow on it was, Clint picked-up one in a blue sweater and a round shield on the front. He paid the woman twenty dollars and sauntered inside.

Phil was already looking better than he had back in the med bay. He was sitting up, skin less pallid, more alert, stronger. It made Clint feel less weary himself. Phil didn't look-up from his newspaper crossword until Clint said, "Hey."

Phil immediate put the paper down and smiled. Clint still got a feeling of unreality from it. This was happening. They were both alive, relatively well, and grinning stupidly at each other like prom dates. Clint shook his head to disperse the feeling. "I come bearing gifts," Clint said, waggling the doll. "Pun very much intended."

Phil huffed. Apparently love didn't mean a new appreciation of Clint's sense of humor. He accepted the bear, though, smirking at its little shirt. "Thanks."

"Lots of all new toys to add to your collection, now. Hey, maybe we can all sign this, make it extremely collectible."

Phil hummed. "Then I can sell it on Ebay to go towards replacing my cards."

Clint sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward. Phil was free of tubes and needles, but still had the heart monitor clipped to his index finger. Clint tried to be mindful of it, keeping the kisses soft, reassuring, not at all like he wished they could be: deep, wet, heavy, a prelude to so much more. But a chest wound, and a nicked artery meant that any significant change in pulse would send nurses running.

With a sigh, Clint leaned back. "Fury gave me a week off."

"Oh?" Phil said as if he hadn't demanded it. "And what are you going to do with it?"

Clint shrugged. "Pretty much what I'm doing now."

"You shouldn't waste your free time on-"

"Doing anything else, every moment not spent with you, _would_ be wasting it." Phil's brows rose. Clint ducked his head. "Yeah, sappy, I know. Don't tell Nat. Or anyone."

Phil chuckled and winced. He brought a hand up to lightly cover the spot where under the thin hospital shirt were bandages and stitches. "It's not very interesting around here. You'll get bored in less than a day. And you'll have to go home at some point, even if we have the pull to keep you around past visiting hours."

Clint stood and shrugged off his backpack, holding it up. "I'm in for the long haul. And we won't be bored." He unzipped the pack and removed a tablet. "We've got your shows to catch up on."

Phil moved the teddy bear to one side and created room for Clint next to him on the other. Clint sat on the bed, knees up so the tablet was propped up on his thighs. 

"You have _Dance Moms_ on that thing?"

Clint scoffed. "Of course."


End file.
